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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438920">take two</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidewaysClarinet/pseuds/SidewaysClarinet'>SidewaysClarinet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Injury Recovery, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marco lives!!!, Medical Trauma, Throws Canon Out The Window, my plot now, yeah i doubt im the first or last person to write this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:00:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,154</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidewaysClarinet/pseuds/SidewaysClarinet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's by a stroke of luck that Marco survives his injuries long enough for Jean to find him and get him medical attention. Jean is relieved beyond words to see his friend alive and recovering, but with it comes new revelations, betrayals, and plots more convoluted than he can get his head around. Suddenly, there are traitors in the 104th, and Erwin has plans to root them out, one by one.</p><p>The question is: how long until Erwin's plotting brings about the destruction of the world as they know it?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>147</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. chapter one</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hihi! This is another fic idea that struck me n wouldn't leave me alone, because I'm a total sucker for angst and traumatic brain injuries &lt;3 granted this one will be more TBI-lite since yknow. I don't want him DEAD just traumatized and wounded &lt;3</p><p>I also am not totally sure if I'll turn this into a multichap, or if I'll add in ships. To be determined, I suppose!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Son, if you can recognize the body, then please let us know. Otherwise, we need to get a move on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean knows the body, of course he does. How could he not? He’d recognize those soft freckles, fluffy black hair, and kind eyes anywhere; even in their mangled state, even matted with blood, even covered in gore. They were the same eyes that sparkled so mischievously when Jean would stay up with him late at night, trading stories about the other cadets and their teachers. It was the same hair that Jean would wash clean after a muddy day’s training, griping and complaining even though he didn’t really mind it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Marco Bodt, and of course Jean would recognize him. There isn’t a world in existence, any possible circumstance where he wouldn’t recognize Marco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there is a world where Jean wished he didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nausea rises hot and heavy in his throat at the gore caked around the ground Marco lies on, the house just behind him. He has picked up more bodies than he can rightfully count, identified more corpses than he wishes he could, and yet this one hurts. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts, </span>
  </em>
  <span>like a punch to the gut and the feeling of breathlessness that comes only seconds afterwards. He wants to cry. He wants to yell and scream and rage and suddenly, suddenly, he understands why Eren is the way that he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to find the titan responsible for this, tear it limb from limb, and then rend apart every other titan in existence just for good measure. There are so many things he wants to do, and yet he does none of them. He stares, uselessly, at the corpse of a friend and wishes above all that it was him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he recognizes it to be the woman accompanying them in the body count. Her eyes are frighteningly blank, and he wishes he could force himself to banish his emotions the same as she has.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pull yourself together,” she says, but not unkindly. “We have to get these bodies out of the streets quickly, or disease will spread. Do you understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean nods, numbly, even though he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand anything. “It’s, um… my friend, Marco Bodt. 104th, same as me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see. I’m sorry for your loss, but we should keep moving if there isn’t-” She abruptly stops, eyes widening, as a groan echoes out into the street. It is gurgling, wet and hoarse, and followed quickly by a wet cough and a wheeze. Jean feels his stomach drop, and the noises in the street fade to rushing in his ears. He can feel his own heartbeat, thudding quick and heavy in his ears, as he turns his head slowly, like his neck is moving on rusty gears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco is… Marco has moved, and his eye is open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eye is open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean’s convinced he’s hallucinating, that everything must have really gotten to him, until Marco’s mangled chest heaves with another wet cough. His hand raises weakly, batting about as if looking for something. Jean feels himself moving, kneeling down on the ground to catch Marco’s bloodied hand in his own. As soon as he does, there’s another gurgle-wheeze, and Marco’s hand twitches back as his eye rolls, unseeing and wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marco,” he hears himself saying. “Marco!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...an?” It sounds like words, sounds like his name, and that’s what grounds him in the moment. “-ill m’... od, th’y’re g’na… ‘ll me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest is heaving, and there’s a sound like whistling that Jean can just barely hear. He glances to the side of Marco’s chest, where the whistling is coming from, and the nausea redoubles when he sees bone and flesh barely visible through the mass of blood and ripped cloth. There’s something pink that rises and falls with Marco’s chest—a lung. He realizes it’s a lung, torn and weakly inflating with each breath only to whistle air out sadly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Jean does throw up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s bad enough to see the gore, bad enough to see the carnage, but to know that Marco is alive under all of that? It has his eyes prickling with tears and horror, and he can’t get a proper breath in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s alive?” he can hear the woman saying, sounding as horrified as he feels. “I don’t… Sina above.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only when his stomach dry heaves with nothing left to offer that Jean gets ahold of himself. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve, grits his teeth and looks back at Marco, who’s still muttering, still wide-eyed and fearful. Jean pulls his jacket off, running on autopilot as he reaches shaking hands forward to press it against the gore of Marco’s right side. The other teen hisses in pain, jerking away, so Jean crawls forward to press it more tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something possesses him, something makes him pull Marco’s body against his chest, holding him tightly as if it could somehow push all of Marco’s spilling organs back into his body. Something sharp and wet presses against his neck, where Marco’s head is leaned, and he tries not to think about it. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to know. Marco’s free hand flails about again, and Jean takes it up, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. The other teen stills, then, and Jean tells himself that it’s not death. Marco is not dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t realize the woman has called a med team until he hears the pounding of feet down the street, and the distant calls of them moving in. He sees them soon after, a group of men and women in sterile uniforms that bring stretchers and medical kits. One of them, a woman with bright green eyes, kneels down next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which one is alive?” she asks, and Jean almost laughs at that. Almost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both of us,” he says, instead. He leans back so she can see Marco better, and the carnage that is now sticking to his chest. “He’s, uh… he’s in bad shape, but he’s alive, so can you-?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if there’s much we can do,” she says, frowning heavily. She seems to consider something, and then she sighs, reaching her hands up to rest on her knees. “We can try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A spark of hope lights up in Jean’s chest, no matter how weak. He doesn’t know if Marco can survive this, or if he’d even live more than a few days beyond medical care, but it’s worth the try. Marco is worth the try. “Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get a move on, then!” The woman stands up then, motioning for one of the men next to her to move in. He’s blonde and older-looking, and he frowns just like she had when he looks down at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we even pull them apart?” he asks her, quietly, like he doesn’t want Jean to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can- I can let him go.” Jean starts to lean back just to prove it—he’s not a liability, he won’t put his emotions over Marco’s life. But as soon as he does, they throw their hands out, panicking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait!” The green-eyed woman cries, and Jean immediately freezes. They seem to relax then, as he goes back to holding Marco, but there’s still tension in the woman’s body. “Look, kid, don’t freak out, but- but we don’t know if he’ll, you know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does know. Holding Marco together wasn’t just a figure of speech; he’s literally holding the other teen in one piece, now. It would make him puke again if his stomach weren’t so ravenously empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It looks like some of the blood and tissue may have dried to your shirt,” the man explains, calmly. He kneels down by Jean and motions for the stretcher to come over, where the woman kneels at Jean’s other side. “If we try to separate you dry, we don’t know if it might… well, pull something loose. We’ll get you free, though, don’t worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” It isn’t, really, but he says it anyways. It would be less fine if it weren’t Marco. “Tell me what to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man nods. “We’ll need you to get yourself and him on the stretcher, if you can. Don’t stress it; keep him together, and we’ll move you both if we need to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows, trying to draw up what strength he has left. It’s simple enough: get himself and Marco on the stretcher. Jean looks over at the cloth and wood helpfully held just beside him, and then looks down at Marco. The other teen is out cold, which makes this a little easier. Maybe Marco will just sleep through the whole thing—wouldn’t that just be incredible?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brings his knees up and braces them on the ground, letting go of Marco’s hand just long enough to wrap his arms around his body. Jean holds him close, holds him tight, and leans his hip up. Thankfully, the man takes the hint and moves the stretcher up under his back, so that Jean can lean his hip back up and wiggle more fully onto the cloth. It’s a bit of a shuffle-and-lift routine to get onto it completely, but he knows he’s made it when the woman’s expression relaxes with relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s unspoken permission for him to do the same, and so he does, leaning his head back onto the cloth. The stretcher is moved and lifted up, and then all that’s left is the passing lights and whispers of their journey to the Garrison’s makeshift military hospital. He can feel Marco breathing against him, and the wheeze-whistle of his exposed lung. Jean can even feel his heart beating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...an, Jean-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He recognizes his name, even through the slur of Marco’s words and his torn lip. Jean looks down at him, but his intact eye is only open partially. There’s something like tears engraving tracks through the blood and dirt on his face, and his breath rattles as he reaches a hand up to grip Jean’s shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...kill me,” he’s saying, quick and distorted all at once. “-ey’re g’nna…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever he says next disappears in a wheeze, and Jean shakes his head, reaching a hand up to brush through the much in Marco’s hair. “We’re not gonna kill you, Marco. You’re gonna live, I promise, I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco shakes his head, and his voice picks up, pleading. “‘n you, they… ‘ook m’gear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean’s eyes widen, and he looks down at Marco’s body. He hadn’t even thought about it before, but the other teen is right; his gear is missing, leaving his waist bare. He hadn’t even had a blade with him when Jean found him, which would be customary. If Marco were dying, then any soldier worth their salt would’ve taken his gear but left him with a blade to defend himself. Marco had neither.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marco,” he says, slowly. “Did someone… did someone steal your gear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other teen nodded. Another rattling breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s… a lot to wrap his head around. Someone had stolen Marco’s gear? Left him to die? It’s all he can do to try to set the thoughts aside, to get another question out. “Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...nie… bert…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Niebert?” he echoes to himself, confused. He doesn’t know any Nieberts, but maybe in another Corps? Another squadron? He leans up to look at the green-eyed woman behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we have a traitor,” he says. “Marco says someone stole his gear, some guy Niebert or something like that. Either he’s stealing gear, or he’s defecting, but we should report it, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll get it, kid,” she says, looking back up at the street in front of them. “You just focus on Marco for now, okay? We’re almost there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean nods, but it’s impossible to stop thinking about it. He doesn’t know who this guy is, but his anger towards the world and titans seems to narrow down to one fine point. Whoever the Niebert is, he’d left Marco for dead for whatever cowardly reasons justified stealing someone else’s gear. Desertion or betrayal, Jean knows he won’t rest until the man is court-martialed, and hung if the circumstances call for it. Looking down at Marco, and his wheezing breaths and bleeding torso and ruined eye, he feels no sympathy for the bastard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean is going to make sure he had what was coming to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before he can fantasize what he’d say to the man when throwing him to the Military Police, the stretcher comes to a stop, as do the people carrying it. The light of the sun had been dulled by a large tent that stretched over them, and he can hear the murmuring of medical personnel just over the groaning and sobbing of wounded soldiers. He squeezes his eyes shut as they pass by, holding Marco close. They’ll be fine, they’re going to be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stretcher is set down next to something like a bed, and more people crowd around him, grabbing the cloth beneath him and Marco to lift them up. Then, they’re on the bed, and both the man and woman from before are right in front of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Time to pull them apart,” the woman says, but her face is pale and her lips are pursed. Her nervousness begins to make Jean nervous, and he sucks in a breath in preparation. “Hey, Gil, can you go get some warm water, please? And as much gauze as you can find?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man, Gil, nods, and leaves the three of them to retreat into the rows upon rows of injured and dying soldiers. That leaves Jean alone with the woman, who reaches a hand down to squeeze his forearm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is gonna suck,” she tells him, eyebrows furrowed. “If you wanna keep your eyes closed the entire time, I won’t blame you. It’s not gonna look pretty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. I- I think I’ll be good.” He wants to try, at least. He wants to be strong for Marco. If he can hold his friend together, he can watch him come apart again. It’ll be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t look as if she believes him, but she says nothing. Gil finally returns after a minute, carrying a pitcher of water and a stack of gauze that he sets on the ground just next to the bed. It’s then that he realizes how close the ground is, and how the bed is more of a cot. It’s much more preferable to think about than the pulse of Marco’s heartbeat against his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dana, you wanna pour or do you want me to?” Gil asks, pulling Jean’s attention back into the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do it, I got the separation,” she sighs. Dana looks up at Jean, then, eyes sympathetic. “Lean on your side for us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean nods and does so, but his expression crumples with reluctance and trepidation when Marco lets out a soft groan at the movement. He was really, really hoping that Marco was still passed out. Dana and Gil share his feelings, taking a second to steel themselves before starting the arduous process of pulling Marco free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil picks up the pitcher and begins to pour warm water over where Marco’s torso is glued to Jean’s own, loosening up the fabric of his shirt. Dana reaches her hands down to gently pull his shirt free, before grabbing gauze to press up against Marco’s exposed flesh. The other teen groans again, holding Jean’s shirt tight in his fingers and shifting his legs with discomfort. Jean finds himself soothing Marco mindlessly, saying whatever stupid comforting nothings he can come up with just to keep his friend still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It goes on like that, until Marco’s torso is mostly pulled free. That’s where they take a break, where Dana cuts off what’s left of Marco’s shirt and wraps the hole in his stomach up with gauze and wrappings. They quickly become stained with blood, but she adds more layers, wraps him in more white, and it begins to slow. Jean breathes out a sigh of relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not done yet,” Gil murmurs, looking at Jean’s neck, then up at Dana. “You wanna switch off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face is growing more pale, her eyes more shadowed when she nods. “Yeah, uh… yeah. The head is- yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gotcha,” he says, and passes the pitcher off to her. Her hands smear red across the pitcher, and when she goes to pour the water across his chest and neck, her hand slips and spills more than she intends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, just calm down and focus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean does close his eyes now, because it’s not as if he could see them prying and peeling Marco off of him even if he wants to. All he feels is the warmth of the water, the pulling of his shirt and eventually his neck, and the sounds of gauze being wrapped. Gil quietly asks him to help lift Marco up, and that’s when he opens his eyes. The other teen’s lower face is mostly wrapped, save for the bloody mess of the top of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gently holds Marco’s head and neck up for Dana to rinse it, and though the blood finally starts to melt away, the torn skin and fragments of bone that he can see almost makes him want to cry. The only reassuring thing about any of this is that the actual hole in his skull doesn’t look very large or deep, and it doesn’t take much gauze to wrap up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco ends up being more bandages and wrappings than skin, but at least he isn’t falling apart at the seams. Dana and Gil lean back on the ground, and they’re all coated in blood, looking down at Marco. The first to move is Gil as he lifts up the pitcher to try rinsing the blood off of his hands, while Dana sighs and looks up at Jean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He won’t bleed out from here,” she explains, “But he’ll probably need a blood transplant, and surgery. We can get him on saline, but a surgeon… I don’t know if he’ll get one. He’ll just have to hold on, or…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...or die. Jean swallows and nods, and Dana gives him another sympathetic pat. He tries to put on a grateful smile for her as she turns to Gil, and begins retreating further into the tent to help others, but it falls apart as soon as they’re gone. There’s not much more room on the cot beside Marco, but he lies on his side and squeezes in aways. He only looks at Marco for another second, at all the gauze, before curling up next to the other teen’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having Marco’s bandaged torso back up against him isn’t comforting on its own, really, but knowing that Marco can’t fall apart so long as he’s in Jean’s arms does make it easier to relax. Maybe it’s selfish to skip out on the rest of the body collecting duties, but just the thought of leaving his friend behind is… it’s paralyzing. He can’t, and he won’t. Won’t leave Marco behind, not to wake up alone, not to fall apart again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows that the quickly approaching night will be the moment of truth. Marco is in bad shape, and Jean has no delusions about whether or not he’ll make it. He knows, in the same way, that it’s ridiculous to think that he could give some of his health to Marco, some of his years…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...but Sina, he wishes he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all he can do to hold Marco tight, and pray.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. chapter two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jean wakes to the sound of fevered panting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks blurriness out of his eyes, straightening up on the cot as he tries to peer through the darkness to whoever is making so much noise. His eyes bring him down, to the wrapped body of Marco just beside him. The other teen’s chest rises and falls rapidly, his bandages already soaked through in sweat and blood. What little Jean can see of his face is equal measures flushed and yet pale, his mouth parted to let pitiful, wheezing gasps escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t look as if he’s awake, and so Jean leans down, reaching a hand out to his shoulder to shake him gently. Marco gives a quiet, pained groan, and Jean shushes him, throwing nervous glances at the other soldiers laying around them. Thankfully, though, it looks as if they’re divided between being awake and solidly asleep, despite the late (early?) hour. Jean looks back to Marco, then, giving his shoulder another soft shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marco,” he whispers. “C’mon, man, wake up for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His friend’s eyes flutter, and he lets out another noise, curling closer to Jean. It puts his weight on his poor shoulder, and makes his noise pitch in volume.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re hurt there,” Jean murmurs, though whether it’s to Marco or to himself, he doesn’t know. He pushes Marco’s shoulder more firmly to the bed, and he finally opens his eyes then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jean?” he whimpers, throwing his hand out blindly. “...hurts, Je- ngh!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know,” he says, brushing the hair from the half of Marco’s head that lies uncovered. It’s sweaty and damp. “Shh, I’m gonna go get you some help, okay? Stay here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbles up to his feet, untangles himself from Marco reluctantly. The other teen is too weak to keep hold of him, and Jean watches his hand fall back to the cot with a heavy frown. He looks around the tent instead, trying desperately to find someone even though he knows it’s unlikely that anyone has the time to spare. There are soft lanterns lighting up the tent between beds, and people in white that step between cots, checking temperatures and closing the eyes of those that had passed in their sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds one that looks familiar—Dana. She looks exhausted, still covered in dried blood that stiffens her military uniform as she pulls a blanket over a woman on the ground. Jean weaves around beds and people alike to reach her, reaching down to grab her hands before she can get away. She looks up at him, blinking, before recognition spreads across her expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid,” she greets, and Jean would have introduced himself were there not more important things to be doing. (Marco, dying and bleeding out, in pain and-) “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marco,” he says, breathless. “He’s sick, and he’s breathin’ really fast, and he-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hypovolemic shock,” Dana says listlessly. Her eyes are blank, like she’s not all there. “Not surprising; he got torn open. He probably needs a blood transfusion, and… ah, surgery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezes her hands, trying to make her look at him, really </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him. “Can you get that for him? Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid, I-” she hesitates, looking pained. “There’s no… guarantee for anyone. We need to hold on to our resources for people who can make it, and your friend… he might be too far gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not, he can make it!” Jean insists. Marco can, he can do it. Fuck, Eren made it through having an arm and a leg bit off! He ignores the part of him that knows Eren is a special case, and tries to catch Dana’s eyes instead. “He’s strong! Whatever treatment it is, or- or whatever surgery, he can do it, I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, there’s only so much I can do here.” Her expression hardens a bit, and she pulls her hands free to rest one on his shoulder. “I just work here, I can’t go pulling miracles for everyone! People die all the time, we can’t keep looking back and trying to save every dying kid when there’s others who have a real chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he’s not just anyone! He’s only here because someone stole his gear and left him to die! And he saw who the guy was, so he needs to live so he can tell us!” It’s a shitty attempt at trying to convince her, and he knows it. Stealing gear isn’t an offense worthy of a real investigation, and certainly not worthy of keeping a dying soldier alive just to know who had done it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, he doesn’t know any other way. He doesn’t know what else to do to keep Marco alive, what else to do to convince everyone else of his worth. He doesn’t have anything—he doesn’t have prestige, or money, or connections. He has nothing, nothing but two hands and a mouth perfect for begging. Fuck his pride; he’ll do whatever it takes to keep Marco alive. He’ll chip a hole into Dana’s thin veneer of sternness, he swears he will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when he opens his mouth, he’s interrupted by the rustling of cloth and the murmurs of soldiers. “Commander,” someone says, and what follows is the sound of pitiful attempts at salutes and greetings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean looks at the front of the tent, and feels his heart skip a beat when he sees none other than Commander Erwin ducking his way into the tent. There’s a black haired man by his side, and another person with wiry glasses and wide eyes. The commander looks about the tent, giving polite nods to those who greet him, before his eyes fall on where Jean and Dana stand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean tenses just as Dana does when Erwin begins to walk towards them, eyes alight with curiosity. He knows that the older man is on their same side, but between the intimidating man at his side and the wild-eyed gaze of the other person, he feels almost like both he and Dana are being hunted down. She whips out a salute as Erwin comes to a stop before them, and Jean numbly does the same, eyes wide and pulse racing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At ease,” Erwin says, easily. He looks at them both, curiosity growing more visible. “Is something the matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all, Commander,” Dana says, quickly, before Jean can speak up. She gives him a side-eye, and it shuts him up quickly. “We were just discussing the recent battle, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin raises an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving, but he doesn’t push it. “As you say. In any case, we heard word of a potential traitor having been discovered, and we came to investigate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surely something like this is below you, Commander?” Dana squeaks, eyes widening. She gives Jean a harsh elbow to the side, ignoring his grunt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blakc haired man beside him gives a snort. “That’s what I’m saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Normally, yes,” he says, with a wry little smile aimed at his companion. “But given that the Scout Regiment was elsewhere when our presence was direly needed, I see no problem at all in taking some of the burden off of the Military Police, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, of course, sir,” she says, ducking her head just a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, who was the reporter?” Erwin asks, looking about the tent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, me, sir,” Jean says, quietly. Dana gives him a sharp look, but what the hell is he supposed to do about it now? Erwin already knows! It’ll be more suspicious if he doesn’t tell the truth! “It’s not really, well… someone just- they stole the gear off of a friend of mine, and left him to get eaten by titans. He’s still- he’s still alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Erwin frowns a bit, but not unkindly. There’s sympathy in his eyes when he reaches a hand down to pat Jean’s shoulder. “Well, no point in wasting a trip. Could you lead us to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean’s eyes widen, and he stutters out a nod, a sweat breaking out at his back. It feels almost embarrassing now, to have the commander come to investigate something like this, but maybe… maybe if Erwin takes enough interest, Jean can wrangle medical care out of him. Surely there has to be some doctor somewhere, some blood transfusion, that they can spare? Whether there is or isn’t, Jean won’t rest until he knows. Marco deserves that much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leads Erwin and his entourage towards Marco, his vision tunneling onto his friend as the rest of the tent disappears behind him. Marco has one hand on his abdomen, fingers white-knuckled as blood pours anew from beneath the bandages. It looks like he was trying to get up, but when his good eye falls on Jean, the strength seems to fade from his limbs. His eye goes glassy, and Jean scrambles forward to catch him before he can fall, gently easing him back onto the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck were you going?” he asks, whisper-quiet and frantic as he sets Marco down, holding a hand where his own clings to stained bandages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...didn’t know where you were,” Marco wheezes out, chest rising and falling rapidly with exertion. Jean can’t hear the whistle of his lung anymore, and he doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. “Commander?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At ease,” comes a voice from behind Jean, significantly softer than he had heard from earlier. He turns his head to see Erwin kneeling down beside Marco’s cot, a hand on the side and something gentle in his eyes. It isn’t pity, and Jean is grateful for it—it means Marco might not be that far gone if Erwin can still look at him as any other soldier. “Your friend informed me of your situation. You have my respect for being so brave in the face of so great an injury, cadet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a quick huff of air behind Jean from the black-haired man. “Shit…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean knows Marco heard it by the tensing of his throat as he swallows, but his good eye is still looking approximately in Erwin’s direction. “Thank… thank you, Commander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The short phrase has his wheezing turning more pronounced, and Jean can feel his hand tensing, flexing. He looks up at Jean, and there’s something pleading and humiliated in his eyes when he opens his mouth wordlessly. Jean catches his meaning after a second, and his brows furrow; Marco wants him to speak in his stead, and it makes something anxious curl in his chest. He’s not… intuitive, or perceptive, not like Armin is, not like Bertholdt and Reiner are. How does he know he’ll say the right thing, or what Marco wants?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s trust he’s not sure what to do with, but Erwin’s heavy gaze begins to turn to him, and he knows he doesn’t have time to think about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His lung is, uh… punctured. Injured,” Jean says stiffly. “I can speak for him.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, I definitely cannot. This is gonna suck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” Erwin nods, and as footsteps scuff about behind them, the brown-haired person kneels by Erwin’s side. Their bright eyes turn to look at Marco, and Jean is a little miffed to see curiosity clearly outweighing concern. Erwin doesn’t seem to notice, or doesn’t seem to care, and instead looks at Marco. “He informed us that your gear was stolen during the firefight. Do you happen to remember who it was, or at least their face?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco looks up at him, and when he goes to raise his hand, the blood smeared across it becomes blatantly obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin gives a visible start. “Oh, my apologies. You’re injured. Hange, would you go retrieve one of the medics? If there are any awake and available.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brown-haired person blinks—Hange, if their reaction is anything to go by. They shoot Erwin a crooked smile. “I’ll get to it, it’s been a while since I polished off my old first aid skills!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hange,” the black-haired man says, sounding aggrieved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whaaaat? I’ll be careful!” Hange waves their hand flippantly as they stand up, still looking too bright-eyed for Jean’s comfort. He watches them go, sharp, until Marco flexes his hand again and he looks at Erwin instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...can we trust them?” he asks Erwin quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hange is one of the Survey Corps senior soldiers, and I trust them with my life,” Erwin says, giving an understanding smile. “I understand they are a bit… eccentric, but entirely trustworthy, I assure you. In any case, were you trying to tell us something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He directs the question to Marco, who raises his hand again to hold up three fingers. Jean squints at his fingers, eyes narrowed, before he hesitantly asks, “Three… people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco gives a restrained nod, looking down at his lap. Jean feels his pulse pick up a bit with anxiousness—three people? Did they gang up on Marco to take his gear? The very thought of it fills him with a mixture of anger and something almost like dread. Dread about what, he isn’t sure, but he knows that this isn’t adding up to anything good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three people took his gear?” Erwin asks. At the reminder of his presence, Jean looks up and nods at him. Erwin’s heavy brows draw together. “I see… and were they military personnel, or civilians? We have had multiple incidents of civilians stealing military equipment, or attempting to, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco shakes his head a bit, and then rasps out, “Military.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin looks up at his other companion, then to Hange as they return with a cloth kit and a few layers of cloth in their hands. His expression is intense, and Jean remembers abruptly that this is the commander of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Survey Corps, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the ballsiest human alive by default. He straightens his posture up a bit, swallowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There were a lot of military guys out and about,” he says, trying to be helpful. “I think all three regiments were in the area at once with us rookies, at some point, but the Survey Corps only showed up around the end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees Hange’s glasses glint as they kneel at Marco’s other side, pressing cloth tightly to his abdomen, as well as the tense shifting of the black-haired man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We came when we were available,” the man says, his mouth twisted downwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy, Levi, I’m sure that’s not what he meant,” Erwin says placatingly. Jean’s eyes widen as he catches on to their meaning, and he feels his stomach damn near give out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-Not at all!” he stammers. Marco’s hand flexes, and Jean abruptly releases it at the realization that he had been squeezing too hard. “I only meant to say that, um, it’s really unlikely that it was anyone in the Survey Corps!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We understand,” Erwin says, though it’s clear by the almost coordinated relaxing of both Hange and Levi’s posture that they certainly hadn’t. “In any case, that does narrow down our possible suspects. We’re looking at the Garrison, the Training Corps, and the Military Police, correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The commander nods, and looks at Marco once more. “Then, did they happen to be in the Garrison?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco shakes his head again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Training Corps?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco looks up at Jean, eye wide and brow furrowed. It’s a helpless, wounded look, and Jean feels the color drain from his face. Erwin carries on, either oblivious or uncaring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose the Training Corps, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants Marco to take it back, to say it isn’t true, because he knows what this means. The Training Corps were all grouped together for the most part, which meant only one thing— someone in the 104th had done this. Three of their friends, their comrades, their brothers and sisters and siblings-in-arms had sabotaged Marco, leaving him to die. He doesn’t want to believe it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what stake would Marco have in lying? He’s a foot in the grave, and Jean knows he isn’t the type to play a cruel joke to torture others when it could very well be the last thing he ever does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It comes out numbly when Jean says it. “If it’s the Training Corps, then it’s the 104th. We were all in groups together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All of you?” Erwin asks, and Jean nods, looking at where Hange is wrapping Jean’s abdomen over again. “That narrows down our list much more, thank you. Perhaps we could list their names, and you could let us know who they were?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco nods, and Jean takes that as his cue to start calling out names. “In the building with us, it was most of the top ten. Mikasa, Armin, Connie, Sasha, and Annie, as well-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco tenses, eye widening, and gives a shaky nod. Jean feels his own eyes widen, and the floor feels like it drops out from beneath him. Annie…? Sure, she was cold, but to do this? It doesn’t feel real. It takes Erwin looking at him again to continue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His throat feels dry when he speaks again. “I think Reiner may have been there, and Bertholdt as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those seem to be our guilty parties,” Erwin cuts in, though not harshly, when Marco nods twice more at their names. “Could you inform us of their full names? The last three of the trainees you mentioned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Annie Leonhart, Reiner Braun, and Bertholdt Hoover,” he murmurs, but as soon as he does, he looks down to Marco, desperate. “Are you sure? I mean, really really sure? Annie I could see, but Bertholdt? Reiner? They couldn’t- I don’t know if I can believe it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s a sort of tremulous vulnerability in Marco’s eyes, and Jean finds his own despair both matched and surpassed. He doesn’t want to believe that Reiner, or Bertholdt, or Annie could do this. It doesn’t make any more sense than Marco lying doesn’t; Annie has never been cruel, not really, and Reiner had… well, he was the closest thing the 104th had to stability, to what Jean thought was unconditional camaraderie and care. If they couldn’t rely on anyone, they could rely on Reiner, and even quiet, kind Bertholdt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to imagine them taking Marco’s gear, stripping him down and leaving him for dead, but he can’t. He can’t do it. It doesn’t make any sense, it doesn’t add up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then they had to have- maybe they were forced into it?” He reaches down to squeeze Marco’s hand, because if it’s true, then… then Commander Erwin is right there. The three of them will be court-martialed so fast, it’ll make their heads spin. Despite his silent pleading to whatever god exists, Marco only gives a solemn, teary-eyed shake of his head, and Jean’s breath leaves him in something like a defeated sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need to assign blame just yet,” Erwin says, reaching a hand out to give Jean’s shoulder a pat. “It’s possible that they may have been convinced that your friend was dead or dying, and rescued his gear to be reused again. Is that what happened, son?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both he and Jean look to Marco, who gives a damning, “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The commander’s brows furrow deeper. “Was their own gear damaged?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I struggle to see what other excusable reason could exist for stealing a comrade’s gear,” Erwin murmurs, leaning back on his heels and rubbing at his chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make they were just dirty fucking thieves,” Levi says, shrugging. “Might not be a deeper motive than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They wouldn’t,” Jean blurts out, but doesn’t back down when four pairs of eyes turn to him. “The Training Corps takes care of us, so they don’t have the need, and they wouldn’t just… none of them are cruel, y’know? I don’t think- I don’t think someone could hide a nature like that, not after what all we’ve been through!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d vouch for their character?” Erwin asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean hesitates, then nods. “Annie’s kind of a jerk, and Bertholdt doesn’t really talk to us much, but that doesn’t mean they’re- they’re not thieves, or murderers. Reiner least of all, I’d trust the guy with my life. All of us would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then there might be a reason yet for their thievery. I don’t know if you can-” The commander’s mouth purses, and he rubs at his thighs. “I don’t suppose there’s any easier way of communicating, is there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m getting a damn pad and pen,” Levi huffs, turning on his heel to stalk through the tent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin nods. “In the meantime, is there anything you need from us? My interest is certainly piqued, and I do still feel guilty for forcing you to do so much while injured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurts,” Marco whispers. Hange’s hands hesitate around his abdomen, flexing oddly as their expression twists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was it you said happened to him?” Hange asks suddenly. “There’s so much blood, and I swear I saw, like, raw flesh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He, um,” Jean looks at Marco, who is looking steadily at the opposite side of the tent. There’s a fine tremor to his skin that doesn’t ease even when Jean moves his hand down to his hip, instead, both in an attempt to comfort and to decrease all the touching on his injured side. “Titan got him, did what titans do, y’know? We were thinkin’it grazed his head but did some shit to his lungs, and his chest. His arm’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops abruptly, feeling a bit stupid. Of course Marco’s arm was gone; anyone with eyes could see that. Jean looks down at his knees instead, frowning heavily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surely we can afford to spare the morphine,” Erwin says when he goes silent. “If not from here, then our own resources.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can have mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice doesn’t come from any of them. Jean looks up from his knees to try to track it down, and finds his eyes landing on an older woman who lays in a cot just to Marco’s other side. There’s a sickly pale look to her face, probably due to where her leg is missing just midway down the thigh. Her eyes are glazed, yet not completely muddled, and her smile is kind when she looks at Marco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure does look like he needs it,” she wheezes, something like a laugh. “It’s wasted on an old lady like me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re all speechless. Jean tries to find something to say, the right thing to say. “Ma’am, you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hush,” she cuts in, waving a hand. “It’s past my time to go. Get me one of those medical idiots and take it, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Jean knows he’s speaking for Marco when he finally gets his next words out. “Thank you, so much. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman smiles at them both. “Well, I gotta balance out my karma somehow, right? I just hope it helps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi is returning by the time she finishes, and he throws the pad of paper and pencil into Jean’s lap before jerking his chin at Marco. At their silence, however, he pauses. “Something happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Humanity’s Strongest,” the woman murmurs, amazed. Her breath becomes more rattling, more wet-sounding. “Damn, never thought I’d see him. You’re a bit more crass than I imagined.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi looks at her, clearly confused, and Jean braces himself for a blunt reply. He’s hardly known Levi for long, but he knows the man’s reputation as Captain, and his personality over the past conversation. To his surprise, though, Levi’s expression softens. “And who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sap,” Hange whispers, a strange grin on their face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yvonne Thomas, sir,” she says. “You’ll forgive me for not saluting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he replies, nodding. “You need something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yvonne gives a bit of a shrug. “Company’s good. Didn’t think my time was coming so soon, but who controls things like that? Just make sure they don’t drop my body when they take me out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi opens his mouth, then visibly hesitates before looking at Erwin. “Go on. I’ll be with you in a minute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin nods wordlessly, and just like that, the focus returns back to them. It’s a bit shocking to experience firsthand how the commander seems to wordlessly command the attention of whatever setting he steps in to. Shocking and equally almost intimidating. He prays that Annie, Bertholdt and Reiner really do have a good reason for what they did, because he knows deep in his soul that they don’t stand a chance against a man like Erwin. Humanity can call him their ally, but those three certainly cannot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He distracts himself with the pad and pencil, gingerly handing it over so that Marco can write on it. He holds up the paper as Marco takes the pencil and struggles to write with his non-dominant hand, but Jean resists the urge to watch him. In some way, he doesn’t want to know. His imagination runs wild as his friend writes, and tries not to look even when the scribbling stretches out over a few long, tense minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before Marco hands the pad to Erwin, he hands it to Jean, and then he has no choice but to read Marco’s labored chicken scratch.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie were discussing sealing the hole, and they called it ‘the hole they tried so hard to make’, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it read. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They called the Colossal and Armored titans ‘their’ titans. I think they’re able to transform into them, somehow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think…” Jean trails off as Erwin takes the pad from his hands, eyes widening. He wants to say it’s impossible, but it’s just like-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like the Yeager boy,” Erwin murmurs, finishing his thought without realizing it. His eyes have grown cold, and he hands the pad to Hange to read before giving it to Levi. “Burn this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi nods wordlessly, but Jean looks at the commander, confused. “Why? I mean, why, sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Strike his name off of the register for the tent.” Erwin stands and continues on as if he hadn’t heard Jean, looking instead at Hange with a voice low like whispering. “We’re taking him to headquarters. Find whatever senior Survey soldiers in the area that can help you transport, and tell them that we’re bringing him in for research.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, please.” Jean looks up at him, almost afraid, now. “What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your friend’s name, again?” The commander asks, eyes icy and harsh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks, confused. “Marco Bott, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well.” Erwin nods, and his voice pitches lower, more secretive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tonight, Marco Bott is going to die.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. chapter three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi hi! i hope you all enjoy &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Die?” Jean asks, stunned. “Sir, I don’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Hange is already on the move, and Levi is setting down Yvonne’s hand. Jean only gets a brief glimpse of her closed eyes and peaceful smile before Levi is back at Erwin’s side, eyes just as cold as his commander’s. Marco’s fingers brush against the side of his hand, and he knows he isn’t alone in his confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His wounds are too great, and the realistic chances of him recovering are slim,” Erwin says. “He honors the Survey Corps by donating his body to research. We can glean quite a bit for future generations out of his remains.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No!” Jean scrambles up to stand, throwing his arms out wide to stop them even though his hands are shaking. He tries to keep his expression strong, but real fear courses through his veins. He can’t stop them, either of them, if Marco’s body is what they really want; but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try. “I’m not letting you take him, sir. I’m sorry. You’ll have to go through me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jean,” Marco bites out, sounding all at once resigned and afraid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean looks down at him, scowling. “Shut up, Marco, I’m not giving up on you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir.” Hange appears at Erwin’s side, expression determined. “I informed the medics of his passing. There’s no one to inform of his death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Erwin murmurs, nodding. “Hange, it appears you may have a new subject to study after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hange blinks, looking up at him, before a smile spreads across their face. Jean feels his blood run cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck no,” he hisses. “You’re not takin’ him, he’s still-!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, there’s a hand at his collar, and Levi is yanking him down until they’re at eye level. Jean’s heart skips a beat, especially at the damn near murderous look in the captain’s eyes when he says, “Walk with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not as if he really has a choice. Levi drags him through a gap in the tent out into the cool night air, ignoring his protests until they’re far away from the medic tent. Jean wars with himself on what to do—he won’t let those bastards take Marco, not alive, but the consequences of rebelling against someone like Captain Levi? Will he even survive long enough after that to make it back to Marco, assuming they won’t already have killed him? It’s certainly not any easier to think being </span>
  <em>
    <span>bent down </span>
  </em>
  <span>half his height by Levi’s iron grip!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, it doesn’t last long. They reach a secluded alleyway and Levi releases him abruptly, leaving him to stumble backwards and nearly to the ground at the sudden freedom of his shirt collar. The captain looks up at him, scowling heavily, as Jean adjusts his collar and debates whether or not he can make it back to Marco before Levi takes him out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what you’re thinking,” the man says, sharply. “And don’t even try it. I’ll have your ass on the ground before you even make it a step out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what? I’m just supposed to leave my friend to die?!” Jean demands, hands curling into fists by his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi’s scowl deepens. “Are you some special kind of stupid? I knew kids were dumbasses, but surely you’ve got to be setting some sort of record for complete and utter moronic, simple-minded ignorance here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jean can feel his cheeks turning red with embarrassment. “If there’s some sort of hint I’m missin’ here, by all means, let me know!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In one swift movement like water flowing into place, Levi grabs the back of his neck and hauls him down once more, eyes alight with irritation. “No shit, idiot. We’re not killing your goddamn friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean blinks, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you stop this god awful squealing at the top of your lungs, then I would be happy to fill you in,” Levi hisses. “Because if someone overhears, then we really will kill that one-armed cripple in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call him that,” Jean says, before he can stop himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The captain raises an eyebrow, countering with, “Then keep your big mouth shut. Deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean grits his teeth, because his pride is demanding that he pick a fight, but his common sense knows damn well that he’ll not only lose, but it’ll also be embarrassing as shit when he does. So, reluctantly, he nods and Levi then releases his neck with a satisfied sounding hum. Levi instead leans his shoulder against the side of the alleyway, still looking unimpressed as he looks at Jean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not killing your friend,” Levi repeats. “But we do need him dead, for all intents and purposes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Jean recoils a bit, confusion overriding his stung pride. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because those three thieves of yours have some sort of vested interest in seeing him dead,” Levi says, slow and pointed as if Jean were missing some sort of obvious conclusion. “You’re pretty slow, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathes out a scoff, running a hand through his undercut as he leans back against a box just behind him. Now that he looks, there are a few scattered about the alley, conveniently hiding them mostly from view. He begrudgingly respects Levi’s quick thinking, even if it only seems to be used for creative ways of insulting him right now. “Look, I just got thrown into a titan fight for the first time in my life, saw my best friend damn near bisected, found out it was actually at the hands of my goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and now you want to kill him but not really? Cut me some slack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Levi’s raised eyebrow raising higher, Jean passive-aggressively adds, “Sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The captain stands still for a long minute, before giving a flick of his eyebrows and something like a laugh through his nose. “Spitfire. Fine, I’ll explain, but make sure you’re listening because I don’t repeat myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean gives a nod, forcing himself to relax as Levi crosses his arms and begins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need them to think Marco is dead, but it’s critical that word also gets out that we had him first, got me? It’ll get ‘em thinking that they succeeded, but it’ll also throw a wrench in their plans when they realize that Marco could’ve told us what he knew,” Levi explains. Jean’s eyes widen as he begins connecting the dots as well, and the captain gives him something like a feral smile. “See? First tip to talking to Erwin, ever, is that he’s always ten steps ahead of you at any given time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” Jean breathes, amazed. Sure, he’s heard about Erwin’s reputation, but it had only been seconds after reading Marco’s story before he was creating plans. “Why, though? Why make them believe he’s dead? Why not just grab them now, when they’re not expecting us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think about it, kid,” Levi says. “If they really can turn into titans, and the Colossal and Armored titans at that, then how exactly do you think it’s gonna go down when we come busting down their doors?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flushes a bit. “Oh. They’d start screwing things up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’d start screwing things up,” Levi agrees. “See? You’re catching on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, then what?” Jean asks, trying to shift the attention away from himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The captain shifts in place a bit, looking out the alleyway instead. “That, I don’t know. I’m sure Erwin’s got a plan, but I can’t follow him that far out. Best we can do is what he says and find out later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean purses his lips, scratching at his undercut again. “What should I do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First, you’re gonna come with us to our Trost outpost. Everything else can wait. For now, just play the part of a mourning friend, got it? We’ll keep you out of the way of people if anyone is still out and about, but nobody can have any doubts that Marco is dying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He really might be,” Jean says, quiet. Hange’s help or no, Marco’s injuries are severe, and he knows there’s no guarantee that his friend will survive this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, just like that,” Levi says, clapping a hand onto his shoulder. He’s already turning towards the mouth of the alleyway with the silent expectation that Jean will follow, and he does, wordlessly. “Throw in a few tears or something, if you’re feeling fancy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t hard to bring them up, as they walk out of the alley and back into the streets. Like a damn split open, every emotion he’s been holding back for the sake of Marco starting to rush back in. He’s grateful Marco is alive, but some selfish part of Jean wishes that he had died. He doesn’t want to know about Annie, Bertholdt and Reiner, doesn’t want to know that they sabatoged and tried to murder the, objectively, kindest person in their entire corps, left him suffering and on the verge of death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes his eyes prickle, and with Levi’s reminder in mind, he lets the tears bead up as the tent comes back into view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Commander Erwin is waiting for them when they finally arrive back, with Dana just by his side. He sees Levi nod at Erwin out of the corner of his eye, but his focus is on Dana, whose expression is heavy with sympathy and sadness. As soon as Jean is within reach, she wraps a hand around his shoulder and gives him a strong half hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, squeezing him. “I wish we could have done more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” he says, a little hollowly. “You did what you could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulls back to look at him, eyes damp, and he finds that he means it. He doesn’t hold it against her that she couldn’t help, not with so much at stake. It seems like such a small thing, in retrospect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” she tells him, moving her hands to his shoulders. “If you need a- well, an ear or a hug or anything, come find Gil and I in the Garrison, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he says, genuinely. He reaches a hand up to squeeze hers, trying to convey his gratefulness. She certainly didn’t have to help them at all, he knows. “At least he got a few extra hours, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dana nods, smiling softly as she reaches a hand up to pat his cheek. “You’re a good kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Levi’s call of his name, she lets him go and steps out of the way for him to pass by. Levi waits for him by Erwin’s side, an eyebrow raised, but thankfully he doesn’t push it. He only shuffles Jean to stand between himself and Erwin as they walk, and Jean shrinks into himself a bit as the two practical Survey Corps gods surround him on both sides. It’s a bit intimidating, but when Erwin speaks to him again, he recognizes the chance for quiet conversation in their actions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much did Captain Levi fill you in?” he asks, quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, only on why we’re…” Jean trails off a bit, unsure if he should say it aloud. “...letting him die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi nods approvingly, and he knows then that he made the right word choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Erwin says, reaching a hand up to rub at his chin. “I’ll fill you in on the rest when we arrive at the outpost. I apologize for taking you away from your corps, I assure you that you’ll be returned as soon as I feel it is safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean frowns, feeling worry bubble up in his stomach. “Sir, I don’t really want to leave him. Again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t fret, you won’t be separated long,” Erwin assures him. There’s a bit of a twinkle in his eye when he looks at Jean that eases his worry. “I’m also in the area for the next recruitment drive, after all. It won’t be long until you choose your regiment, correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean’s eyes widen, and Erwin smiles knowingly, letting the conversation drift off. Jean’s grateful for it; the recruitment drive had slipped his mind entirely over the past few days. He and the 104th had been looking forward to it for so long, had made it the light at the end of the tunnel of their months and years of training. He realizes then that Erwin is right— the drive is only a week or so away, if not only days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that brings a thought that stops him up short. He and Marco had planned to go into the Military Police together. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’ll probably have to leave the military, now. All his dreams, gone, just like that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because of them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He can see them in his mind’s eye, now. He knows where they are; with all the rest of the 104th, resting and waiting for further orders in helping with the cleaning efforts. He wonders what they’re thinking. Do they regret what they did? Do they regret anything at all? Because if two of them really are the Colossal and Armored titans, then that means-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That means that all of this is their fault. Wall Maria. The fall of Shiganshina. The near destruction of Wall Rose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All those people he’d seen die. The innocent civilians, the Scouts, the Garrison, the Military police—the fucking recruits, fresh out of the training grounds and still wet behind the ears. Franz, and Hanna, and Marco, shit, Marco. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How could they do it? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks to himself, eyes wide and hands shaking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did they watch him when he died? Did they throw him to the titans themselves, or just abandon him to be hunted down like a goddamn animal?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid,” Levi murmurs, cutting through his thoughts. The captain’s eyes are wary. “Calm down. Don’t make any rash choices.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can I not?” he whispers. His voice sounds tremulous, raspy, even to himself. “If this is all true, then what they- what they did, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it really pisses you off, then the best thing you can do is go with Erwin’s plan. If you go hunting them down, then we’ll have a lot more casualties on our hands than we already do,” Levi says, frowning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now isn’t the time for action,” Erwin adds, low and measured. “If you truly care for your comrades and humanity as a whole, then we need to approach this all with caution. The Colossal and Armored titans are still largely a mystery, as well as which of them can shift into which. We’ll need to prepare before we can make meaningful change.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to help, sir,” Jean says, looking up at him. He wants answers, he wants to know why the three of them did what they did. “Anything I can do, I- I want to do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your role will likely be most essential,” the commander says, tilting his head to something in front of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean looks up, and sees the shape of a building in the dark. It’s simple, and rather small in comparison to the towering buildings of Trost around it, with only two stories and something like a front porch. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It makes sense</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks to himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It isn’t like the Survey Corps is really in the wall, ‘specially not this far in.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>At the side of the outpost, squashed in between its left side and the next building over, is a wagon. A lantern bobs in front of it, held by the hand of someone who realizes, after a few seconds, to be Hange. They’re speaking in hushed tones to a toweringly tall man in front of them, while another man stands behind them, holding something like a clipboard in his hand. The first man looks up as they approach, eyes glinting in the lantern’s light as Hange and the other man look up, as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Commander!” Hange says, waving their hand wildly. “Moved safely! I’m gonna take a closer look at him once we’re all settled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s the kid?” the first man asks, looking down his nose at Jean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s even taller when they get closer, somehow almost as tall (or maybe even more) than Erwin himself. Jean startles a bit, swallowing back his nervousness as he whips out a salute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cadet Jean Kirstein, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Squad Leader Mike Zacharias,” Erwin introduces, pointing at the tall man. “He’s got the sharpest nose in the corps, and the sharpest skills after Squad Captain Levi. You’ve seen Squad Leader Hange Zoe-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and with them is their Vice Captain, Moblit Berner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man with the clipboard, Moblit, gives him a friendly wave, and Jean is intensely grateful to see someone normal-looking out of the whole intimidating lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you, Jean,” Moblit says, then points up to the outpost. “Should we go in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In short order, Jean finds himself escorted into the outpost, with Erwin at their helm and Moblit’s reassuring presence just beside him. They’re led through dark, abandoned hallways towards the one room in the house that glows with candlelight through a cracked door, which Erwin pushes open before making his way to the desk by the window. There are two chairs before his desk, and two couches on opposing sides of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He yelps as Hange slaps hands down on his shoulders, guiding him towards one of the chairs before Erwin’s desk. They smack him down into it, and then they grab the other chair and drag it closer to Erwin’s desk before straddling it. Jean glances to the side to see Moblit gingerly sitting down at one couch, while the other couch creaks under Mike’s weight even before Levi joins him. Mike raises an eyebrow at his stare, and Jean turns his gaze back to Erwin, nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for joining us on such short notice, Mike, Moblit,” Erwin says, effortlessly commanding the attention of the room. “As you might have guessed, no, we are not taking in a young boy for Hange to dissect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...should we have assumed that?” Moblit asks, sounding genuinely confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean looks down at his lap, praying that Levi won’t expose him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not that weird to assume! Sue me for taking authority at face value!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin breathes out something like a laugh, and Jean can feel his ears burn. “In any case, the real reason we’ve acquired the boy is because he has important information regarding the Colossal and Armored titans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He does?” Moblit cries. “Squad Leader, why didn’t you tell me? He looked half dead!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Hange replies airily. “I made sure he was stable. Pay attention!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he is to be believed, then it’s possible that Annie Leonhart, Reiner Braun, or Bertholdt Hoover is able to transform into one or both of those aforementioned titans,” Erwin pulls a piece of paper from the desk, alongside a pencil, and begins writing something that Jean feels would be rude to peer at. “It is my intention to question Eren Yeager regarding all of this when he eventually awakens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren?” Jean interrupts. He’s too shocked at the mention of his friend’s name to even be embarrassed about the sour look Levi sends his way. “He’s still alive? They haven’t killed him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet,” Erwin says, smiling a bit wryly. “A friend of yours, I presume?” It’s his tone that makes Jean remember himself, and who he’s talking to. He shrinks back in his seat, flushing a bit as Erwin continues. “Yes, he is alive, for now, albeit comatose. When he awakens, the military and Commander-in-Chief Zackly plan to hold a court martial to decide his fate. I have plans to convince them to give the Survey Corps custody over him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you won’t have to work hard to get him on board,” Jean scoffs, feeling relief at a familiar topic. “He’s been spouting off about wanting to join the Survey Corps ever since his dumb ass walked into training. You’d be harder pressed to keep him out.” After a beat, he looks back up at Erwin. “Can I ask why you want him, sir? Is it because of his titan form?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, then?” Erwin asks. Jean nods; he’d be more worried about violating his gag order if Erwin hadn’t already known. “Yes, I believe his shifting ability could be put to great use in our reclamation of Wall Maria, and our greater goal of expansion beyond the walls. His potential knowledge of the Colossal and Armored titans only make him that much more of an alluring addition to our ranks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think the Yeager kid is in league with the other three?” Levi asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s worth considering,” Erwin replies, and Jean’s brows furrow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is it really possible that idiot could be with them? He’s been so dead set on the Survey Corps… I can’t imagine him being a traitor. It would throw his whole career out the window. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’d rather be overly cautious than to throw the thought out. The question now is whether or not we can get him to admit to it, if he really is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could probably start with two of the kids from our regiment, sir,” Jean says, picking at the fabric of the chair. If anyone could be sure of Eren’s innocence, it would be Mikasa and Armin. “Mikasa Ackerman and Armin Arlert, they’ve been attached to his hip ever since they were kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” Erwin looks down at the paper before him, and writes something beside the wall of text and diagrams. “Then our plan of action will be this: Levi and I will question the boy before his trial, which will take place three days from now. As we do so, Jean, your job will be to break the news to your comrades of Marco’s death. This plan of ours essentially rests on you; you’ll be close to the three potential shifters for a few days, and the attention will be on you if they’re aware that you took Marco to receive medical attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up from his paper, and his gaze pins Jean into place. “Our plan is dependent on you avoiding their suspicion. I cannot possibly express to you how disastrous it would be if they panicked and transformed this far into the walls. I apologize for putting this much pressure on you, but we have little other choice without raising suspicion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean doesn’t know what exactly to say to that; it’s true, the pressure is enormous, and he can practically feel the weight of it all on his shoulders. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The punches just keep coming, huh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, he’s saved by Hange, who looks curiously up at Erwin. “As for Mike and myself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will be in charge of overseeing Marco,” he tells them. “Once he’s stable enough to speak on his own, I want you to retrieve the full story of what occurred between him and the other three.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid almost got eaten alive, Erwin. He might not really be up to reliving all the gorey details,” Levi points out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin pauses, pursing his lips, then looks at Hange again. “As gently as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean frowns, holding his tongue even though he wants little more than to demand better than that. It’s bad enough leaving Marco behind already, but to also know that he’s going to be questioned while Jean is gone? He tries to trust in Erwin, but it’s difficult to brush aside his own worries. It’s only Levi’s words, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘he’s always ten steps ahead of you’, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that convinces him to let it go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone in this room follows the commander for a reason, and he just has to trust that it’s a convincing one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With that discussed,” Erwin starts, clasping his hands together and laying them on the table as he looks at each of them. “We’ll reconvene following Eren Yeager’s trial, and go from there. Everyone understand their directions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a resounding chorus of ‘yes, commander!’, one that Jean joins quietly and reluctantly. They begin filing out of Erwin’s office, and as Jean thinks of returning to the Training Corps barracks, a strange feeling of anger and anxiety takes hold of him. He’ll be seeing Bertholdt and Reiner in a matter of minutes, and Annie in just a few hours later. He doesn’t know if he wants to run away before they can act again, or strangle the life out of them for what they’ve done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just prays that he’ll be able to keep his act up, and that they’ll believe it.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>come find me on twt! @yuri_otoko</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello hello! i apologize in advance if you all are seeing a lot of structural changes here. i've changed the summary, the length of the chapters, and am debating changing the work title as well. this is mostly because i had initially written it as a one shot and structured it as thus, but now that it's a multichap, the old structure isn't holding up so well lol!</p><p>also! Sé que tengo algunos comentaristas que hablan español aquí, ¡hola! ¡Estoy muy feliz de verlos a todos! Quería decir que me encanta ver tus comentarios, y aunque no hablo español, sé cómo funciona el traductor de google lol! Estoy seguro de que todos se han dado cuenta, dado que todas mis respuestas se han creado con el traductor de Google. ¡Espero que no sean demasiado difíciles de leer y que disfrutes el capítulo!</p><p>i hope you all enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Before Jean leaves, he steals away to the room where they’re holding Marco, thankful for the cracked door and the soft lantern light to lead him there. He eases in through the door, and as soon as his eyes finally fall on his friend, he feels the tension in his chest easing. Marco is asleep, or at least dozing, and there are fresh bandages wrapped around his wounds alongside a metal stand with a catheter of blood connected to his arm. He’s still pale and ghostly looking, but he no longer looks as if he’ll be passing away within seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean sits down on the edge of his bed gently, trying not to rouse him, but Marco’s eye flutters open anyways. It looks about, wide and startled, before it falls on Jean, and Marco’s body relaxes. Jean tries to give him a smile, but he knows it doesn’t work when Marco’s expression twists with concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The commander wants me to go back,” he confesses quietly. “I’m supposed to tell everyone you’re dead, and keep the three of them from guessing that you’re still alive. It’s part of the commander’s plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco’s brow furrows, and he reaches his hand about to take Jean’s. There’s a sort of fear in his eyes. “Be careful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean nods, squeezing his hand and just… sitting for a few minutes. He doesn’t speak, and neither does Marco. He just warms Marco’s cold fingers and tries to box up the fear and anger in his heart, tries to piece it together into something manageable. It doesn’t work, and he lets out a sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m scared, to be honest,” he admits. He brings their hands up to his mouth, eyes staring off somewhere around Marco’s bed sheets. “And angry. I don’t know what I’ll do when I see them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a long moment before Marco does speak again, quiet and a bit labored. “Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean lets out a humorless huff of a laugh. It’s certainly not reassuring, but he remembers what Marco told him so long ago—that he was a good leader not because he was fearless, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>because </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was fearful and honest about it. It makes sense; he’d probably hate any guy who tried to senselessly reassure him like that jackass Eren, and in some way, it does help to know that he’s not alone in what he’s feeling. Nobody’s telling him that he’s being ridiculous, or to suck it up, or to push it aside and follow orders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just two simple words. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Me too.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If nobody else understands what he’s feeling, then Marco does, and that’s good enough for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He switches to a new topic, a new insecurity, a new conflict. “...I don’t know if I’m going to go into the Military Police anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco’s eyes widen, and he says only one word, “Jean!” but there’s so much meaning behind it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why? Why now? You always knew what you wanted, what are you doing?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” He looks away, frowning. “I just… I know if I went into the Military Police, I could get enough money to- I don’t know, it’s what I’ve always wanted. I could support you, too, get you into a good hospital with good treatment. But…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trails off, unsure. Marco squeezes Jean’s hand until he looks up, and then shakes his head slowly, where Jean can see it. His breathing is labored with his injured lungs, but he speaks anyway. “Don’t do it for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do it for yourself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean laughs again, and it’s a tortured sort of thing. His mind has changed so many times in just a few days, and he doesn’t know what to think anymore. His heart is pulling him in a different direction, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s crazy, isn’t it? If I choose for myself, then I won’t be going into the MPs,” he says, shrinking in on himself with a wry smile. “I want to join the Scouts now and it’s- it’s fucking insane. I’m going to die out there, but I can’t just… I can’t kick back in the MPs knowing what I know now. I think I’d just go insane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally gathers the courage to look up again, Marco is looking at him as well, an overwhelming sort of pride and fondness in his eyes. He looks like he’s been waiting years for Jean to say that, like he knew it was coming all along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t look at me like that,” Jean murmurs, chuckling humorlessly. “I’m not… I don’t think this is what you think it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco shakes his head, smile widening. “You’re... a good person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being ridiculous,” Jean tells him, fighting down a responding smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest feels warmer than before, and the thought of seeing Reiner and Bertholdt no longer feels so suffocating. It’s like being on the receiving end of Marco’s smile is akin to sitting in the sun on a cold day; he’s reluctant to leave, but all the happier for it having happened at all. He squeezes Marco’s hand, thanking whatever power that exists that his friend had been allowed to live, before standing from the bed. He releases Marco’s hand, but still ruffles his hair a bit, treasuring the last chance to see him before Jean will be thrown back into everything that waits outside the room’s door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be back soon,” he promises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco nods, that pride still in his eyes. Jean caves and smiles, looking away quickly and stepping out the door. He closes it behind him, but leaves it open just a crack, just like before he’d come in. The hallway is still dark, as are the streets when he finally steps out of the outpost. The cool night air calms the heat in his cheeks, but cuts through his sleeves pretty quickly without his jacket to protect him. He reaches his hands up to rub at his arms, trying to keep himself warm as he makes his way back to the barracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like the trickling of sand through an hourglass, he feels the warmth from Marco gradually slipping away, replaced instead by the ice cold feeling of dread and nervousness. He’s overthinking it now, he knows—as long as he puts on a good act, then everyone will be safe. Sure, the attention will be on him for a bit, but if he makes it through these first few days, he’ll be fine. He just has to play the grieving friend, and he can do that. He can make that happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears have never really been his thing; he doesn’t like crying in front of others, and he knows that if he goes in wailing like some kind of idiot, they’ll see right through him. Instead, he pulls up the memory of all the bodies he’d helped carry into carts and tents, and finds the grief and numb horror easily. It’s not fake, either; the thought of all the bodies, all the families, all the death notices…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strays away from the thought that no one would be dead at all, if not for the Colossal and Armored titan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a long walk to get back to the barracks, but he finds himself appreciating it more and more as the minutes pass. It gives him time to clear his head, to piece his act together alongside his story. As the barracks come into view, much later, he has his lie together; he found Marco alive, initially, and tried to get him help, but he passed away in the medic tents due to his injuries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The barracks’ night watch lets him in, and he sneaks into the building, armed and ready with his story. He finds the room containing the boys of the disbanded 104th, and takes a deep breath as he opens the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jean!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first to greet him is Christa, who throws her arms around his waist and squeezes him tight. The next person he sees is a vaguely irritated Ymir, and then the rest of the girls and boys of the 104th. He’s not surprised to see them all gathered in here—as he reaches a hand down to pat Christa’s shoulder, he figures that they must have all snuck in here between night watch shifts. Their superiors would be having aneurysms if they saw the boys and girls together so late at night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Christa asks, looking up at him with big blue eyes as she pulls back. There’s real concern there, grief and worry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She heard they stuck you on clean up duty,” Ymir explains, leaning back on the bed she’s perched on. Connie, who was clearly the owner of the bed she’d stolen, sits next to it on the floor, looking equally concerned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not fair,” Christa says, low and incensed. She releases Jean, and her hands instead ball into fists. “We’re just cadets, you shouldn’t have to see all of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Christa, let it go,” Ymir calls. “Guy doesn’t look like he wants to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christa does so reluctantly, only leaving his side when he gives her a reassuring smile. She returns to Ymir, and Jean steps away from the door, stepping towards the bed where Armin scoots aside to make space for him. The smaller boy presses his shoulder up against Jean’s when he sits down, and Jean gets the feeling that it’s just as much for his comfort as it is for Armin’s own. Eren is still miles away in a cell, after all. Mikasa, sitting by the headboard on the same bed, looks no less aggrieved than when he’d seen her earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the cadets are scattered about the room, and he avoids looking at where Reiner and Bertholdt sit together on the same bed. Annie stands by herself by the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I kind of wish they hadn’t,” Jean confesses, when the silence starts to stretch expectantly. None of them want to ask, but he can tell they want to know what he saw, what he knows. He can’t be mad; he’d probably be the same, in their position. “It… it’s hell out there. There are hundreds of bodies to identify, and hundreds more than we can’t.” He pulls his knees up to his chest, and the thought of it genuinely takes his breath away. “I’ve never seen so many bodies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really makes you angry, doesn’t it?” Connie asks, and though he’s obviously trying to be sensitive for Jean’s sake, his eyes are wide with anger and grief. “That those sons of bitches get to walk out, safe and healthy, and so many of us died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Franz and Hannah,” Sasha murmurs, eyes red. “Mina, and Thomas, and Nac… it’s not fair. It’s not fair at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kind of makes you understand Eren, huh?” Armin asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not that much,” Reiner murmurs, to the muted amusement of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean feels his heart skip a beat. There’s a slow sort of roiling that starts in his chest—the cool, cold lake of grief and sadness starts to move, starts to kick up, starts to bleed red. It’s like the twisting of the clouds just before a storm hits, and his voice falls like hail and ice. “I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room seems to sober at that. He can feel eyes turning his direction, mixed expressions of shock and confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, right? A guy like that, and me, on the same wavelength?” he laughs, utterly humorless and cold. “I never really understood it when he talked about watching his mom getting eaten, not more than a surface level sympathy, I guess. I get it, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jean,” Armin asks, tense and nervous. There’s a vague sort of confusion in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His vision falls to the floor. “Marco’s dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cadets go so silent that you could have heard a pin drop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees Christa’s hand raise to her mouth. Sasha recoils visibly, and Connie’s mouth falls open. Even Mikasa’s expression twists, eyes wide. Jean doesn’t look at Annie, or Bertholdt, or Reiner. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What… what are you talking about?” Christa whispers, horrified. “He- it’s not true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something inside of Jean snaps, and leaves an ugly, gnarled mess of frayed threads in its place. “It isn’t, is it? Whose blood do you think this is, Christa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands, abruptly, startling Armin and the cadets around him. He motions to his shirt, still dyed red with Marco’s blood. Peeling Marco off with the water had smeared it across his shirt, staining it irreparably. It’s easy to bring up the anger, the grief; Marco could have slipped through his fingers if he were even a few hours later than he had been. It was only by a stroke of luck that he found Marco alive, despite the attempt on his life by people who were </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be their friends, their </span>
  <em>
    <span>comrades</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I found him, you know,” he says, voice low. “I found him half eaten. He was still alive. A titan had eaten right through his torso, tore half his head off, and he was still alive. Can you imagine that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jean.” Armin’s hand grabs his shoulder, and he shrugs it off angrily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They had to fucking peel him off of me when I carried him to the medic tent,” Jean hisses. Christa doesn’t deserve it, and he knows he’s out of line even before Ymir’s expression darkens, but he can’t take it out on Annie, or Bertholdt, or Reiner. All he can do is spit words dripping in poison, praying that they’ll hear and magically drop dead. “I had to have my best friend scraped off of me when he died, Christa!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, it’s Mikasa who grabs his shoulder, and she’s much stronger than Armin. He finds himself abruptly shoved down to the bed, and there’s a warning in her dark eyes, despite the empathy he sees there. But the anger is still making his hands tremble, his breath quick, and he can’t let it go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So yeah, Connie,” he says, quiet and venomous “You’re right. He’s dead, and the monster that killed him gets to go free.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it enrages him. It makes him want to scream, and yell, and cry, and howl, because the monsters are going free. After everything the three of them have done, the thousands of lives lost, they get to sit here in this cozy room and play best friends with everyone else. Despite the way they crippled Marco forever, the way they killed thousands, and traumatized thousands more, they get to go free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the room falls into silence, it’s all that he can think about: the world, and how unfair it all is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...every last one,” Connie murmurs, breaking the silence. His words are familiar; they’ve heard Eren say the same ones dozens of times before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every last one,” Jean echoes. Not for the reason they think, but for the three traitors who stand in the corner of the room. For the audacity they have to look guilty, where they think no one can see them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve bought his lie, he’s given them his promise, and that’s good enough for tonight. It isn’t, not really, but too much rides on his acting bit to risk this now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter how much he wants to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, when Jean has had time to compose himself and force himself back into neutrality, he apologizes to Christa. She smiles and forgives him easily, giving him an apology of her own for pushing him. There’s no love lost between them, and so they part ways until the ceremony later that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a point where Armin and Mikasa get pulled aside, and he knows then that Erwin and Levi must be questioning them before the trial that’s supposed to take place later that afternoon. Jean passes the time with Sasha, though he certainly hadn’t planned on it—the girl simply had nothing better to do, like him, and made for decent company when she was being sensitive to his mood. She’s working with a few strips of leather to repair various tears in the other cadet’s jackets since supplies and restrocks are running low, and when she catches him watching her work, she offers to teach him leatherworking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few hours pass as she shows him the basics, and she gives him a strip or two to mess around with while she follows Connie out to pick up chores around the barracks. He sits for a bit, wondering what to do with them and the tools that Sasha had loaned him, and after a few minutes, an idea comes to him. He has to use his own face as a base, hoping it’s around the same size as Marco’s, but he knows what he’s making now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The eye patch slowly starts to come into shape. He has to stitch two pieces together to get it where he wants it, and it looks a little rough, but it’s simple enough that it doesn’t look too bad. He borrows some sewing needles from the supply room and a bit of fabric to cushion the inside of the eyepatch, and in just a few minutes longer, he has something that feels a little less like needles dragging across his skin. It feels relatively comfortable, and he knows he won’t be able to give it to Marco for some time—the wounds will take time to heal—but he tucks it into his new jacket pocket anyways, the one right against his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes him feel a little bit better, less like he’s leaving Marco behind and more like he’s just biding his time to see his friend again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a sort of gentleness in the rest of the 104th when they all sit together for dinner, and Jean’s grateful for it. He doesn’t want to give any more details about Marco’s near brush with death; not only to keep the secret going, but also because it became harder to contain himself whenever he thought about it. They talk about mundane things instead, about their upcoming assignments after the ceremony, and when Jean quietly states that he’ll be joining the Survey Corps, there’s a beat of silence before they, thankfully, move on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels a hand on his shoulder just as he goes to stand to take his plates to the dish drop, and he looks up to see Reiner standing behind him. The other boy’s expression is heavy with sympathy and gentleness, and for a second, Jean’s vision goes so red that his nails bend and break where he grips his plate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where does this guy get the fucking gall?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...say anything before he died?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a second for Jean to register what Reiner is asking, and when he does, he’s so stunned by the audacity of Reiner’s question that he damn near drops the act right there. “...what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he say anything before he died?” Reiner asks again, a sad, wry sort of smile on face. “Y’know, cool last words or anything? He seemed like the type to have a speech ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Reiner,” Jean says, numbly. On some level, the conversation feels goddamn unreal. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is this really happening?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’m sure he would have, if he could speak around the missing half of his face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other boy recoils, eyes widening. “Look, Jean, I didn’t mean-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reiner, seriously?” Connie cuts in from Jean’s side. He looks the same strange mix of angry and surprised that Jean feels, and there’s a tone of bewilderment in his voice. “C’mon, man, you’ve got to be kidding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before any of them can say anything more, there’s a shifting from further down the table. Bertholdt stands, and he gives a resigned sigh as he comes up to grab Reiner’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bertholdt is tugging Reiner away, despite his protests, and the worst part of it all is that it looks like he’s trying to apologize. Jean can’t help but stare at him, utterly stunned—Reiner wants to </span>
  <em>
    <span>apologize? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The idea that the other boy thinks that an apology would be worth anything not only surprises Jean even more, but it also makes him utterly enraged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean watches Reiner and Bertholdt leave the cafeteria, and after a few minutes, he sees Annie join them as well. It almost makes him laugh then; how could he never have noticed Annie trailing behind them, or vice versa? It’s so obvious now that he knows where to look. He realizes then that they must have always been in league. They must have been working together for years, plotting and planning how to ruin the lives of everyone within the walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all he can do to hate. It’s all he can do to utterly loathe them. He can’t act on it now, but he swears that one day, he will. Titan shifters or not, they’ll reach the same fate that every titan reaches; death by a soldier’s hand, and he swears then that his blades will be the ones to carve through their necks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thoughts drag him down for the rest of the day, and no matter what he does, he can’t seem to shake them. As the time comes for the ceremony, he reluctantly finds himself understanding Eren a bit more. With vengeance so close and yet so far out of his reach, it’s hard to drop his own irritation; even so, the thought of turning out like that creep makes him try harder to drop the attitude, and by the time they’re heading out to choose their regiment, he’s able to strike up a cordial conversation with Connie long enough to thank the other teen for stepping in at the dinner table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ceremony is certainly eerie in its set up, and Jean thinks to himself that the Survey Corps really isn’t doing itself any favors by indirectly hazing the potential recruits from the get-go. The arena is dark save for the roaring bonfires to either side of the stage, and Erwin stands alone atop it, looking damn near as intimidating as the creeping shadows on the ground. If he wasn’t still able to remember the commander’s kind grip on his shoulder, he might’ve been having second thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they line up before the stage, he isn’t surprised to see that Eren isn’t among them. Mikasa and Armin are, however, and they look calm enough that he feels safe assuming that Eren is in the clear. It reassures him in a way that he hadn’t been expecting; if Eren were to be a traitor as well, Jean isn’t sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ceremony passes in a bit of a blur. He’s sure it would be more impactful if he weren’t already resigned and dedicated to his fate. There’s no point in beating around the bush for him; despite his previous dreams and the quiet gasps of the other cadets when they realize he’s abandoning said dreams, he knows he can’t leave Marco behind. No, the only way back to Marco, to get revenge, to fix everything, is to go with the scouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of the top ten, Annie is the only one not to join the Survey Corps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s only surprised to see her go because of Reiner and Bertholdt’s presence among the new Survey Corps recruits, instead of with her. Though Bertholdt looks conflicted, both he and Reiner step forward so that they’re all in one row, looking up at Erwin with varying expressions of resignation, determination, and fear. He’s glad to see them there, in a way. Annie may have slipped out of his grasp, but he’ll still have a chance with Reiner and Bertholdt. He can still do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The salute they put on for Erwin solidifies their fate, and that’s that. They have one last night left in the barracks before they’ll all be sent out to their new posts; they trudge back in thoughtful silence, trying to process and accept the fates that they’ve chosen for themselves. He can vaguely hear Ymir and Christa arguing in hushed tones, and he doesn’t realize that their voices cover up the sounds of footsteps until a hand lands on his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Armin, and his eyes are oddly sharp when he looks up at Jean. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Jean greets back, a little surprised. It isn’t like Armin to come and deliberately seek him out—and for some reason, the look in the smaller teen’s eyes makes his hair rise. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I talk to you?” Armin asks. There’s not a shred of hesitation in his eyes, not like there usually is. “Sometime tonight? Before we’re shipped out, ideally. I don’t know if we’ll be assigned together, but I have a question to ask you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, I guess,” Jean says, a bit awkwardly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What does he want with me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “What is it, uh, what is it about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin blinks. He looks away, then, in the vague direction of the rest of the 104th in front of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about… well, I guess it’s about Marco.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a brief moment, Jean panics and his mind goes blank. It’s really only the thought of what Captain Levi will do to him if he fucks this up that forces him to speak. “Seriously, Armin? If I didn’t want to talk about him with Reiner, what makes you think you’re any different?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of looking cowed or embarrassed by the reprimand, Armin raises an eyebrow. Jean watches as he casts a cursory glance around the formation, but seeing as they’re near the back, he only gives Mikasa a brief look before grabbing Jean’s arm. He drags them both off of the main street and into an alleyway, and now Jean really is being reminded of Levi. There’s even a tower of boxes that Armin hides them behind, squeezing in so close that Jean can feel his goddamn breaths in the dank alley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re alone now,” Armin murmurs, pinning him with that same sharp stare. “So you can cut the bullshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the hell taught you to talk like that?” Jean blurts out, completely unthinking. Armin’s unimpressed look only makes his cheeks flush a bit, and he crosses his arms defensively. “Look, man, I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then don’t say anything,” the other teen replies swiftly. “Just listen.” He continues on before Jean can interrupt him. “I know something is going on. You’ve been acting weirdly ever since you told us that Marco died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you think I was lying?” Jean demands. He can’t fuck this up. He can’t fuck this up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin looks at him strangely, as if coming to some sort of decision before he speaks again. “No, I don’t think you were lying. About the gore bit, at least, but about him dying? I don’t think you were telling the truth there. Not all of it, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean’s not fast enough to keep up with Armin’s head-spinningly fast intellect, and he knows it. The best he can do is try to buy time until he can think of what to say, or get back to Erwin to figure out what the hell he should be doing. “And what, exactly, makes you think that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s simple; you haven’t been like yourself. You were talking big from day one about how you wanted to go into the MPs, and now suddenly you’re joining the scouts? Something happened to make you change your mind, and it had to have involved Reiner somehow, because you’ve been giving him and Bertholdt death eyes ever since you got back,” Armin says, coming to conclusions so quickly that Jean can barely follow. “I don’t know if they’re connected, really, but I know they’re both weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does this have to do with Marco?” Jean asks weakly. He’s trying to find some sort of hole in Armin’s logic, but there just isn’t one, not one that he can see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I checked the register of collected bodies at the pyre.” Armin’s voice falls with the finality of death bells. “Which you never attended, by the way. Imagine my surprise when I saw that Marco wasn’t included amongst everyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean’s heart skips a beat—he’s found a hole. Not a good one, but one that exists. “He donated his body to the Survey Corps in his last moments.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So he was alive when you found him!” Armin’s eyes widen, and Jean knows then that the hole he seized was actually something more like a trap. “You told Reiner- well, no, not those words exactly, but you told him that Marco never got any last words, so which is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe those words were for private ears!” he snaps. It’s fake, of course, but he channels his panic into anger and sees Armin finally recoil at his words. “Ever considered that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other teen hesitates for a minute, and something in his expression softens. “If that’s true, then I’m wrong, and I’m sorry. But something tells me that there’s more to this than what you’re telling me. Sure, Marco may be dead for real, but it doesn’t explain everything with you and Reiner and Bertholdt, and why you’re joining the-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m joining the scouts because the fucker that killed Marco is still out there,” Jean says, voice tight. “And I’ll be damned if I let the son of a bitch live another day. I won’t let his death be for nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He won’t let them walk away from Marco, and the thousands of others they killed without making them pay for it. The motivation that he gives Armin is a lie, but the emotion behind it is sincere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What comes after that?” Armin asks quietly. “Say you get your revenge. What comes then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean prickles with the anger of someone who hasn’t thought that far, and doesn’t intend to. “I don’t know, smartass. I have time to figure it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other teen gives a long-suffering sigh and, finally, goes quiet. He has run out of conspiracies to say and questions to ask, and now he just stares at Jean, something sad and something frustrated in his eyes. It’s so damn sincere that Jean looks away, annoyed. He managed to pull off the impossible and dodged Armin’s suspicion, but that knowing look of his is going to ruin the whole act. Jean wants the whole interrogation to be done and over with so he can sleep, and try to make sense of the world he’s about to be joining.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s energy from his rage that keeps him moving forward, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Armin questions it enough to pull it apart. This is all he has, and he’s not going to wait for it to fall to pieces in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going back to the barracks,” he mutters. Armin says nothing, but dutifully follows behind Jean as he leaves the alley, shoving his hands into his pockets and trudging down the street. It’s dark out once more, and it reminds him eerily of just the night before. The night air is chilling, only furthering his irritation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, Jean,” Armin starts up again, and he resists the urge to snap at the other boy to drop it already. “I know you’re still lying about something, and that’s fine. I won’t pry. If it’s someone like you, then it must be important. Just… don’t forget you still have comrades, alright? You still have people worth living for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean scoffs. Armin’s comparing him to Eren, now? Maybe it had been a mistake to admit that he understood Eren’s motivations, back then. “Don’t go lumping me in with that suicidal maniac. We’re not the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re more alike than you think,” Armin chuckles, sounding a bit amused. He still has that tone like he knows something that Jean doesn’t, and it annoys him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we’re not,” he asserts, as the barracks come into view. “He’s an empty-headed idiot. I know I’m no knight in shining armor, but he and I are in two different classes, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not an agreement. Jean knows this, and decides to ignore Armin for the rest of the walk back. The other teen is too damn smart for his own good; he’s lucky that he managed to play it off this time, but he really needs to be more careful in the future. There are people who will have much more of a vested interest in knowing what he knows, and no kind nature holding them back like Armin’s does. He’s got to be smart. </span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>feel free to follow me on twitter @/yuri_otoko, or to join my discord server for the quieter side of the aot fandom! https://discord.gg/mWJ6qmrT</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>comments and criticisms are always appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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